“Bacon and eggs, I think. And toast. Lots of toast.” After last night, I need to do some carb loading.
“You got it.” She opens the refrigerator and grabs eggs and bacon.
While Marilyn lays strips of bacon in her large cast-iron skillet, I peruse my email. Mostly good news, though I’m going to have to travel to New York again this week. Normally I don’t mind travel, but Skye…
I wipe the thought from my mind. Skye is not an issue. Work goes on as scheduled. I’ve never changed my plans for a woman, and I’m not about to start now.
I’m knee-deep in the middle of looking over a résumé for a new marketing manager when a soft “ahem” drifts to my ears.
I look up.
And suppress the urge to gasp as my cock reacts to the sight of Skye—wearing one of my white button-down shirts. It hangs on her, leaving her entire body to the imagination.
It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
I hold back a groan as I turn toward her. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she replies.
“Coffee?”
“Absolutely. Thank you.” She walks in and takes a seat next to me.
Marilyn turns away from the stove and eyes her. “Good morning. I’m Marilyn.”
“Hi,” Skye squeaks out.
“How do you take your coffee?” Marilyn asks.
“Black.”
A moment later, she slides a cup of steaming black coffee in front of Skye.
I turn to her. “Hungry?”
“No. I’m good.”
“Are you sure? Marilyn always makes enough to feed a small army.”
“That’s because you have the appetite of a small army.” Marilyn smiles and sets a full plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of me. “Sure I can’t get you anything?”
“No.” Skye takes a sip of coffee and then sets the cup down quickly, spilling a few drops on the marble counter. “Sorry,” she mumbles.
“Not a problem.” Marilyn wipes up the mess with a flourish.
Skye burned her tongue on the hot coffee, but I won’t embarrass her by mentioning it. This goes beyond a burned tongue, though. Something is bothering her. I place my iPad on the counter. “Could you excuse us for a few minutes, Marilyn?”
“Sure, Mr. Black. Just buzz if you need me.” She exits the kitchen.
I turn to Skye. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re acting strange. Are you uncomfortable here?”
“No. Not exactly.”
“You’re the one who wanted to stay,” I remind her. “To leave on your own terms.”